Chapter Seven #4
There are now three independent threads. Bruna confirming the meetings with Renzo from the photo Carlo showed him. The financial trail matching the amount of Renzo’s payment precisely. And Renzo’s confession from his own lips.
It’s enough. More than enough.
“Print everything.”
“Absolutely, Mr. Foschini.” Dario pushes a few keys on his computer, and the printer that sits beside the filing cabinets grinds into action. It spits out page after page, and Dario gathers them and places them into a folder.
“Did you need anything else?” he asks politely.
“No. For now, that’ll do.”
Relief flashes across his face as I stand and take the folder from him. “Oh, and Dario.”
“Y… yes?” he stammers.
“If Tomaso or anyone finds out that you showed me this, your brother’s gambling debts will be the least of your worries.”
Dario nods. “Of course, sir. I won’t tell a soul.”
“Good boy.” I smile and leave his office.
****
Once I have what I need from Dario, I return to where I’m keeping Renzo. When I go downstairs, Renzo is half unconscious from blood loss. That’s a blessing for him. I’ve been gone a long while, and his fate is already sealed.
I lightly smack his cheeks to rouse him. “Hey, Renzo, wake up.”
He blinks up at me, looking confused. He glances around and his face changes as memories return. But he doesn’t speak. He simply looks resigned.
“It seems you told the truth,” I say gruffly. “As I already said, you’re a dead man, but I promise you, your family will be safe. I won’t touch them and I won’t let anyone else touch them either.”
“Thank you,” he mumbles.
I get behind him and swiftly draw the blade across his throat. Quick, deep, precise. The blood comes fast, dark and heavy, running over my gloved hand and down the front of his shirt. He makes a sound, a wet, gurgling exhale, and then his body goes slack. The chair creaks as his weight settles.
I clean the knife at the sink and watch the pink water swirl down the drain.
I text Carlo so he can have a few men dispose of the body and hose down the room.
Me, I’m heading home. I got the information I needed, now I have to figure out what to do about it.
I know what I want to do about it, but I have to be strategic.
It’s after 10:00 p.m. by the time I get home.
I nod to my men at the gate as I drive onto the estate.
The house is dark except for some exterior lamps along the drive.
I pull into the garage and sit in the car for a few minutes, hands on the steering wheel.
I let the silence settle over me as I consider what I should do next about Valentina.
There’s no easy answer, so I go inside and up to my room.
I strip out of my bloody clothes and take a hot shower, still mulling what to do about Valentina.
If I handle her the way I’d handle anyone else who came after Elio, Valentina will be dead by morning.
But something is making me hesitate. While I’m not an overly sentimental person, I always liked Valentina.
She was always good to me. Coming after Elio like she did is unforgivable, yet executing her feels wrong.
Perhaps my hesitation comes from the fact that, while I’m pissed at her, I also understand her.
If I strip away all the layers of why she did what she did, I find a mother protecting her son.
A woman who watched her boy be humiliated and decided to take matters into her own hands.
To be honest, it’s the kind of thing Mama would do.
Only, hopefully, she’d hide her trail better.
I’m stepping out of the shower when my phone rings. It’s Carlo.
“Sandro is at the gate,” he says. “He wants to see you.”
I frown. “Why?”
“He wouldn’t say, but he looks rough.”
I sigh. “Let him through.”
I dress and go downstairs to my study. I pour a bourbon and sit behind my desk and wait. When Sandro appears in the doorway, he looks nothing like himself. His hair is uncombed and his shirt is wrinkled as if thrown on in a rush. His eyes are swollen and red, and his hands are shaking.
“Thank you for seeing me.” His voice is raw, barely controlled.
“Come in. Sit.”
He does as I ask, sitting in a chair in front of the desk. He’s come to my home many times over the years, but things are different now. We’re no longer together. He’s no longer the omega I have to protect. Elio is. Still, seeing him so upset doesn’t please me. I do still care about him.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” he whispers. His hands tremble as he runs them through his hair. “My… my mother is too proud and stupid and she did a terrible thing, Marcello.” Tears streak down his face and he looks distraught. “I don’t know what to do.”
Maybe I’m getting soft in my old age, but his tears bother me. I get up and go to him. When I put my hand on his slender shoulder he starts to sob and I grimace. “It’s okay, Sandro.”
“No it’s not,” he whimpers, wiping at his eyes. He looks like he’s aged a decade since the wedding. “You don’t know what she’s done, Marcello. I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid when you find out, you’ll have her killed.”
“Sandro.” I crouch down on my haunches in front of him. “I already know what she tried to do.”
His eyes widen and pure panic washes across his young face. “Oh, God. I didn’t know what she was going to do. I swear on my life. If I’d known what she was up to, I’d have stopped her.”
I take his hands. “I know that too.”
He blinks at me, tears glittering in his lashes. “You do?”
“Yes.” I study him. I know when he’s performing and when he’s not. Right now, every ounce of polish has been stripped away and what’s left is genuine terror for his mother. “I know that Valentina planned the whole thing alone.”
Relief breaks across his face, but only for a second before it’s swallowed by more fear. Because believing he wasn’t involved and sparing his mother are two different conversations entirely.
“What are you going to do?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I know what I should do.”
He shudders. “I… I know that you have every right to punish her. She was insane to think that going after Elio was the right move. She loves me too much. She saw that I was… broken-hearted.” His cheeks pink. “And she went nuts. But never in a million years did I think she’d do anything like that.”
“No,” I murmur. “Me neither.”
“She wasn’t in her right mind. She knows what she did was wrong. Can’t you maybe show her m… mercy?” he whispers, dread in his voice. He was with me long enough to know the kind of man I am. How merciless I can be.
I study him, trying to think logically and not be swayed by his emotions. “Sandro, even if she regrets what she tried to do, she needs to be punished. I can’t just let this go. I’m sure you know that.”
“Yes. I… I do know that.” He bows his head, studying our clasped hands.
He hesitates and looks up to meet my gaze.
“But I am begging you, Marcello, if you ever cared about me at all, will you please spare her life?” His eyes are big and imploring.
“Maybe she deserves to die, but…” his voice breaks. “She’s my mother.”
As hard-hearted as I can be, I feel pity for Sandro.
However, I also remember when Carlo called me and told me what had happened.
For about ten seconds, I thought that Elio was dead.
I’d been devastated at the thought of him gone forever.
Whether the emotions were so strong because of the bite or something else, I have no idea.
All I know is those few moments when I’d thought I’d lost Elio forever still haunt me.
“What would you do if you were me?” I ask. “Your mother didn’t just pilfer money from me. She went out of her way to hire a man to murder my husband, Sandro. What do you think is a fair punishment for something that horrific?”
“God, I don’t know.” He lets out a shaky breath, and his hands tighten on mine.
“She did an unforgivable thing, I’m not arguing that she didn’t.
Still, I’m asking you to forgive her anyway.
Whatever punishment you want, short of her death, whatever it costs my family, please let her live.
If you want me to leave the city, I will.
I’ll resign from the businesses. I’ll disappear.
Whatever you want, Marcello. Just… just please don’t kill my mother. ” He sounds like a little kid.
There’s no denying I feel empathy for my ex-lover, but there’s more to consider as well.
My hesitation isn’t only because I’m fond of Sandro.
As the head of the Foschini syndicate, there’s a lot more at stake than just Sandro’s feelings.
The reality is killing Valentina could start a war.
It destabilizes alliances. It gives every ambitious family an opening. A reason to come after me.
Maybe Valentina knew that and thought that would allow her to get away with her actions.
Or maybe she wasn’t thinking at all. Maybe she simply wanted revenge on me for dumping her son and marrying another omega.
It’s hard to say what was going through her head.
But whatever her reasons, I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.
“If she were anyone else, she’d already be dead,” I rumble.
He winces. “Yes, I know.”
I hold his pleading gaze. “But… out of respect for you, Sandro, I’ll spare your mother’s life.”
“Oh, God.” Sandro’s breath leaves him in a shudder. “Thank you, Marcello.”